


Language Barrier

by Akaiba



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consent Play, Dildos, Enthusiastic Consent, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Voyeurism, bossy Fenris, mentioned choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a gift, after all, and a gift from Anders at that. The man’s kindness of late with the reading and writing lessons, even if he did not sit through them with Fenris, was touching. It had cast the mage in a slightly different light, one that Fenris was struggling to process.</p><p>Fenris turned open the cover, quill lifted and… he stilled. </p><p>There were words already printed onto the first page.</p><p>For the prompt: Maybe, since Fenris is learning to read, Hawke blithely goes out to gather 'donated' reading material from his friends, and ends up snatching Anders' journal in the process. Fenris reads it, surprised to find all these absolutely filthy fantasies that Anders has about Fenris having his way with him. When he goes to confront him, its all he can think about and ends up re enacting them for the mage</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language Barrier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DashingApostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/gifts).



> Teeny, tiny nod to the age old fandom headcanon that Anders' native language is maybe German. I love that headcanon.

 

“On the table, he says,” Hawke muttered as he moved aside more scrawled pages of Anders’ manifesto. “Right there, Hawke, just go and look- like a big boy,” He mimicked Anders’ tone in an unflattering and irritating pitch before blowing a raspberry. 

 

It may not have been Anders’ fault that a screaming pregnant woman came in with her frantic wife, both of them begging for the Healer right when Hawke came to collect Fenris’ practice materials. Okay, it wasn’t at all Anders’ fault, but the haphazard mess of a desk was definitely Anders’ fault.

 

“Ah!” Hawke crowed in triumph. Like always, the little piles of paper- already neatly laid out for Fenris to mimic words and letters- were tied with a simple worn string. Under disarrayed pages of Anders’ manifesto and so at odds with the crumpled chaos of the rest of the desk, like Anders put real effort into making sure the exercises were perfect. Hawke liked to tell himself it was because Anders really did care, under that soured relationship Anders and Fenris had cultivated, but it might just as well have been habit. Anders had off-handedly mentioned Karl got him to help teach a few classes in the circle and it worked perfectly for teaching Fenris in a productive manner. Hawke wasn’t exactly a patient man and Anders’ soft heart couldn’t have him turn down Hawke’s request. Fenris didn’t need to interact, after all. Hawke brought the papers and work for Fenris to complete, and once completed he brought them to Anders to mark. Fenris benefited, Hawke got to stop going gray with stress at Fenris’ rage fits when he struggled, and Anders…. well, now that Hawke thought about it, Anders got nothing out of this arrangement. 

 

But he didn’t seem to mind, so maybe Anders just got the fuzzy feeling of doing a good deed.

 

A cheap looking journal caught Hawke’s eye. It was beside the bundle of exercise papers and bore no mark, it’s crude if pristine surface making it almost look brand new. Hawke’s mouth parted in a surprised smile; Anders had bought Fenris a journal! Maybe Anders really did care after all.

 

The shrieking women expecting their first child made Hawke’s need to tease and make a fuss slightly impossible, so he just added the journal to the pile and ducked out of the clinic.

 

\---

 

The exercises Hawke brought him were getting harder. Not impossible, Fenris was determinedly set to his task about overcoming them, but enough to furrow his brow and irritate him when they didn’t go right. 

 

There was the usual copying of the letters or words, but this time there were sheets of sentences missing words. Tenses were confusing for Fenris and he thought maybe Anders had picked up on it from how doggedly the work seemed to focus on them. Spelling too. 

 

_ If you are having trouble, sound it out loud, _ the advice at the top of the page read. Reading was coming much faster than writing, Fenris found.

 

So Fenris did.

 

Soon he had three neatly filled lines of: Merrill will eat the apple, Merrill has eaten the apple, Merrill is eating the apple. Nonsense, but Anders seemed to understand that Fenris grasped the lessons better when they were around people and things he was familiar with. Truly, he hadn’t credited the man with such observation skills and yet this proved it. Fenris was understanding more and more and he could not thank Hawke enough for allowing this tentative alliance between himself and the mage. 

 

Four more pages of similarly nonsensical sentences and Fenris felt accomplished, if a little exhausted. He had worn out his patience for the task that evening, and turned instead to the journal. 

 

It made him a little giddy to own such a thing. Something in which he could pour his thoughts in ink and graphite, because his thoughts had worth and merit and he was free to share them. Or store them close to his heart, as he planned to do with the journal. It had been a gift, after all, and a gift from Anders at that. The man’s kindness of late with the reading and writing lessons, even if he did not sit through them with Fenris, was touching. It had cast the mage in a slightly different light, one that Fenris was struggling to process.

 

Fenris turned open the cover, quill lifted and… he stilled. 

 

There were words already printed onto the first page. 

 

Perhaps Anders had left a message? Fenris lowered the quill and leafed through the journal. If it was a message, it filled almost two thirds of the pages. Which rather defeated the point of gifting a journal. 

 

It was more likely that Hawke hadn’t even checked when he brought the book and it wasn't actually a gift at all. Still, he was tired from practicing writing and Fenris had exhausted most of the books he had at his reading level so perhaps the journal might divert him for a time. It certainly didn’t seem overly complex, just someone else’s innermost thoughts. Perhaps rude of him to read, but it did not deter him with no one there to scold him for it.

 

So Fenris settled into his armchair with the journal and he began to read. 

 

_ Twelve more potions for Cambree. I have told her it is just a matter of waiting, no amount of help will fix this. It’s the least I can do to ease her son’s passing but it make take years. _

 

Fenris frowned at the first page as he parsed it’s meaning. It was a series of delivery markers; potions here, vials there, food when nothing could be done. 

 

He leafed further into the pages, going still when he scanned one page and read his name.

 

_ Maker, I’ve never been hated so much by someone who wasn’t a bloody Templar! Okay, Da is… well okay. Da and Fenris are on pretty even footing here. _

 

Fenris’ hands clenched around the book edges before he forced them to uncurl and turn the pages more. His breath had become sharper, his whole body tensed as his mind raced to read Anders thoughts on him. The entry seemed old, he and the mage had not fought viciously in a long while, but he remembered a time when they had.

 

_ Why, why, why?! What benefit is there to this?! Is this some new torture? Maker, why?! _

 

_ Dreaming of Fenris?! _

 

Dreaming of him? Fenris snapped the book shut abruptly. Perhaps he should just burn the book. Or return it. So what if the mage dreamt of him? Fenris’ eyes darted nervously, as though he were being watched.

 

He still needed new reading material. If he had to stomach whatever ‘dreams’ the mage was having of him then he would do it. It was easier to tell himself that then address the fluttering in his stomach which he vehemently denied was of any note.

 

He opened the book again.

 

\---

 

Three glasses of wine, a worn away dust-free patch of his floor and twenty pages of the mage’s damned writing later and Fenris was reevaluating his choices.

 

He had shoved the book under his bed and he still could not get the words out of his mind.

 

_ In my dreams he is kinder, sometimes. It is rare, and difficult for me to believe that he might be gentle with me. In the fade, his kisses are rough but claiming, his hands leave bruises but bruises I welcome. He claims me, he owns me. And I let him. I welcome every inch of it. _

 

_ Maker, what is wrong with me? I would have to truly want to die to ever think of Fenris like that, he would rip out my heart if he so much as suspected I thought of him like this…  _

 

Fenris scrubbed his eyes with his hands, willing the words away and yet they were imprinted into him now. He knew what the mage thought of him, and he knew what image of himself the mage had gleaned from Fenris’ treatment of him. He had not been kind, Anders had not earned that. The foolish, headstrong mage and his babbling tongue had set Fenris’ temper aflame from the moment he had met him. 

 

It seemed Anders’ written words set other things aflame. Other more foolish things that Fenris couldn’t quell. 

 

He was growing to know the mage in these pages, to know him in a way that had taken years to even entertain the possibility of. His thoughts were unhidden, bared for Fenris to pick through without any masquerade of Anders’ glib tongue or babbling. Well, there was still babbling. Fenris tended to skip over those passages.

 

_ Justice tells me to stifle these thoughts, and I would if I knew how but I can’t. Fenris represents everything that mage freedom should never become, I cannot get him out of my mind in every sense. I want him to see me as a real person- a person whose thoughts and feelings matter, who deserves to be free. He won’t. But I cannot accept that, if I do then… then I’ll give up. _

 

_ I still dream of him. I still think of him, in waking now. Justice doesn’t understand. It’s only confusing him further to try and explain so he now just doesn’t comment on it, but I can tell he doesn’t approve. It’s hardly as though I approve either. _

 

The thought that Anders understood him at all made him want to laugh but from what he had read, Fenris would privately admit that maybe Anders did understand. Or at least, he understood Fenris a little. Anders’ musings on Fenris’ more violent nature in the mage’s fantasies were disturbing to say the least. The mage’s words also spoke of woe between the filth, of how, if Anders’ secret thoughts got out, Fenris would hurt him.

  
There was no talk of them ever reaching a middle ground and Fenris couldn’t say he saw one existing either, but the despair and resignation irked him. Perhaps because the more detailed and filthier passages aroused him and he could not quite grasp the reality of that. A reality he had long tried to deny, when catching the mage’s eyes across campfires or looking for him in battle.

 

His opinion of the mage had seemed set in stone in the earlier days and no more remarkable than his preference for not eating fish but this… this was shaking what had become more habit than practice. Fenris could not recall the last heated word they’d shared, in fact the mage had made him laugh last week at Wicked Grace night.

 

No sooner had Fenris sequestered the book under his bed then he was digging it out again. He could not pretend to understand every word he came across but sounding out some of the letters helped him grasp what they might be, the mage’s help yet again.

 

_ I do not know how to stop this madness. He snarls at me and I wonder what he might look like over me, holding me down and snarling at me as I arch into him… it is madness. But it is my madness and I suppose… a private thought never hurt anyone. _

 

_ I dreamed of him again. His hands were around my throat, his cock filling me… he would not let me cum and I didn’t even want to. I just wanted to let him use me and it was alright because it was just a game. He would end the game with my word and I was safe, guarded even, in his grasp. His hands at my throat excited me and I have not had a partner I trusted like that since Karl, though Karl was not as interested in hurting me. I cannot think of Fenris wanting anything beyond that... I do not think if Fenris were to touch me like that, however, that it would be a game. _

 

Fenris felt affronted at that. Whatever his grievances with someone, he would never hurt them in his bed. They would never be invited to his bed if he truly wished them pain like that, and the thought that the mage could not envision Fenris’ touch in such an intimate way as anything other than painful… It hurt, Fenris realised with a jolt. The mage’s opinion of him, when despite his best efforts the mage actually knew him a great deal, was so poor that it hurt Fenris. 

 

Between boring passages about Anders’ patients and his despair for the state of the mages in Kirkwall there were pages and pages of what amounted to ‘mooning’. The mage was smitten and it made Fenris’ cheeks heat. 

 

His imagination was taken with picturing each filthy situation the prose laid out for him and while it was sometimes difficult to follow the larger words it was often the shorter words that detailed Anders thoughts. Cock, mouth, arse, hand, please, please, please… Those ones Fenris understood clearly. Anders on his knees and choking on Fenris’ cock was something the mage imagined frequently, Fenris hands in his long hair to force him to take it. Fenris couldn’t say the image wasn’t pleasing in some capacity but it wasn’t what  _ he _ pictured- and picture he did. 

 

When Fenris closed his eyes it was the willing and eager mage who crawled over him, pleading for what Fenris let him take with an easy shrug. The mage sucking his cock with fevered desire was a far more pleasing image than making him gag upon it.

 

_ As selfish purchases go this is perhaps the one Justice most rages at me for, but a man has needs and I cannot take my only relief being my own hand anymore. Justice will just have to let this one slide, because it is done and these things hardly have re-saleability. You can clean lacquered wood as much as you want but when someone knows it’s ‘used’ it’s pretty much just trash. _

 

The next paragraph was written in different ink and scrawled in a shakier hand.

 

_ Best Purchase  _ **_Ever._ **

 

_ Maker, it’s thick. So, so  _ _ thick _ _. But I can hold the base and ride it hard just how I pictured and fuck… Madam Lusine is getting a fruit basket for recommending the shop in the first place. There’s even veins and a ridge around the top, this is art and I’m fucking myself with it and closing my eyes and picturing it’s Fenris’ cock. Just thinking about it is getting me distracted, I definitely need to try it out again. This time maybe how I always think he might take me, face down in the bed and arse up- hard. Maker bless the Antivans for these toys. _

 

Fenris dropped the book in his lap. The mage had… had a dildo. A dildo that he pictured was Fenris’ cock. The only thing that Fenris had found in the pages that the mage had bought for himself that wasn’t borne from necessity and it was a sex toy. 

 

The image of Anders sprawled in his pitiful cot, frantically writhing on his belly as he pushed the dildo into himself, keening on every thrust and hand shaking as he lost himself to his own need- it was not an image Fenris could push aside. His cock was achingly hard in his leggings and he stared down at the taut outline of it in shock. Even if he had admitted to himself the mage’s words stirred him he wasn’t exactly prepared to do anything about it. Do anything like touch himself. No, he resolutely thought as he glared at his cock.

 

He put the book away for good that night. Sleep should have eluded him but it came all too eagerly with golden hair and honeyed eyes.

 

\---

 

When Hawke next came to visit next, Anders lesson papers in hand, he looked tongue whipped and nervous as he eyed the journal resting on Fenris’ desk. “About that, um… journal.” Hawke rubbed his neck and shuffled. “Anders says it is actually his journal, so can I just-”

 

Fenris snatched the journal from the desk, the idea of letting anyone else have it- even Hawke to deliver to it’s rightful owner- made his skin crawl. “No.” He slid the hand with the book in it behind his back, as though keeping it from Hawke in every sense. “Tell the mage if he wishes it returned he will come to me himself to claim it. He and I must have words.”

 

\---

 

Anders did not show his face at Fenris’ doorstep that night, nor the three nights that followed. 

 

Fenris would have been irritated if his attention were not still wholly fixated upon the contents of the journal. He read it avidly almost every spare moment.

 

It was difficult, sometimes, to parse the mage’s meaning. He wrote in scattered sentences with long, descriptive words that didn’t need to be there. He bounced from topic to topic and Fenris could go from bored one moment to achingly aroused, then reading the not-at-all-as-riveting-as-Anders-seemed-to-find medicinal properties of rashvine. 

 

Fenris was roughly half way through the entries and he was starting to see things he didn’t want to see. Though he would not admit to wanting to see any of it, fascination did not mean anything more than that. Still, he turned the pages with a certain investment he couldn’t rid himself of.

 

_ I see how Hawke looks at him. How he looks at Hawke. I can’t blame him, Fenris or Hawke. They are both of them… stunning. Physically, mentally, charismatically… No one could ever accuse Fenris of being personable but his wit, his voice, he seems to know exactly what effect he has when he rumbles that barely interested grunt and smirks. Even Isabela falls for it. And Maker, his eyes... _

 

Fenris incredulously scanned his eyes over four- FOUR- paragraphs espousing the merits and many wonders of his eyes. Fenris was hardly an egotistical person, nor was he self depreciating. He knew precisely what he was good at and that he was not unappealing, but to read the mage simpering over his features like he would enjoy nothing more than gazing adoringly at him… it turned Fenris’ stomach. At least that was the only explanation he could find for how his insides clenched and fluttered when he read it. Was it too foolish to hope the words enchanted and that be the explanation? The alternative had his throat dry and his hands shaking.

 

_ I don't want to sleep anymore. It is either darkspawn and death, nightmares that leave me screaming and terrified, or his arms and his touches that torment me on waking. _

 

_ Even the sexy ones only hurt now. I can't even have that. Last night I dreamed he- _

 

Fenris squints at the word. Like a bolt he remembers Hawke’s- no, Anders’- advice. Sound it out. It does not help so he writes it down and puts it in his pocket to ask someone he trusts to explain. 

 

On the evening of the fourth night Fenris found his limited patience worn thin. Was the mage such a coward that he would not face Fenris? Anders’ journal spoke of him so wistfully and yet when opportunity knocked he stayed away. Perhaps a mage’s desire was a weaker thing than even Fenris thought. But no, the mage instead found him so fearsome and threatening that now his desire was known Anders no doubt assumed he would be killed for it. 

 

It set Fenris’ teeth on edge.

 

It was not in Fenris’ nature to sit idly by and not act, not when he had a course of action in mind. So he went to visit Anders instead.

 

An empty clinic seemed too perfect, but it was what Fenris found. Empty but for the mage. He stood folding threadbare bedsheets and humming to himself, as though nothing at all in the world were out of place. As though Fenris was not cursed every waking moment to think of Anders under him, over him, at Fenris’ mercy… Instead Anders had stripped to his torn undershirt and had his sleeves rolled up, so at ease. Still humming.

 

“So, you do not wish your journal returned then?” Fenris’ voice was as gentle as a man in full armour tumbling down stone stairs. The reaction he garnered from Anders was satisfying, however. 

 

He watched the mage leap and spin about, dropping the sheet he had almost finished folding before backing up against the bench with his hands outstretched. Not for magic; in surrender. There was no small amount of worry and fear on Anders face and that did not sit well with Fenris.

 

“F-Fenris?!” Anders had already backed up to the bench but he pressed himself further, as flat against it as he could without clambering onto it. “Ah… my j-journal. Well… I, um. Maker I am so sorry, you were never meant to see that.” Anders face paled and Fenris frowned.

 

“It concerned a great deal about me. I would say I am as entitled to it as you are.” He took a step towards Anders and watched the mage push out his arms further, pleading even.

 

Anders gulped and shook his head. “Fine, you can keep it. I don't want it back. Burn it, shred it, do whatever you want with it. Just please, don't…”

 

Fenris had not stopped taking steps and now he stood just a breath from the mage's outstretched fingers. He could see Anders’ eyes darting to the exit, how the man's throat bobbed with each nervous swallow, and he watched Anders eye him in return. It was a surprise to find himself inclined to preen under it. Perhaps the mage's rambling about his eyes had given him an ego boost after all. “I wish to keep it. And I wish to address a few discrepancies you have in your fantasies of me.” Anders had drawn his arms in as his face fell slack with surprise, so Fenris filled that space instead.

 

“You… you want to what?”

 

Fenris grasped Anders wrist, his left one. He thumbed over the mage's thundering pulse and waited for the man to resist. When he didn’t, Fenris pinned the hand to the bench. “First; your fantasies paint me quite the animal in bed. It would be flattering in one sense if not for the habit you have for picturing me outright harming my bedmate without thought.” Fenris pressed the last inch closer, his fully armed and layered body against Anders to feel through his thin spun clothes. His words ghost over Anders’ throat and Fenris can feel him choke before he even hears it. “Let me assure you, you would beg for me to bite you, to mark you and claim you. You would enjoy it. Every moment. But I would not do it without you consent.”

 

Whatever strangled sound escaped Anders’ mouth it was not a word. It might have almost been but it became thin and reedy, and not at all understandable. It felt good, Fenris realised, to have Anders at the mercy of his words as Fenris had been at his for days now.

 

He span Anders about, pulling him like a doll from the grip he still had on Anders’ wrist and turning the mage to face the table. “Your journal speaks of this often.” Fenris murmurs thoughtfully, his mouth close to Anders’ ear and body pressed fully against the man’s back. He feels the shudder that runs through Anders as he speaks, “Of my attacking you, my seizing upon you and forcing you down upon a bed, a table, the wall- any surface, any will do.” Fenris gripped the man's other wrist and forced both hands flat upon the table while Anders did little more than bite his lip and whimper. “What happens next, Anders?” Anders made a garbled noise and Fenris growled, “What next?” He insisted.

 

“You f-fuck me,” Anders obliged on a shaky breath. 

 

Fenris hummed, pleased at the answer, but otherwise he did not move. He did not let Anders go either, instead just leaned more against him. Fenris let him feel every inch of his armoured bulk and let him hang in anticipation for a long moment. “In your fantasies, yes. That is what you would have me do. That is not what is going to happen.” Fenris’ lip curls at the strangled noise of disappointment Anders surely did not mean to give voice to. “You are going to answer me one question. Turn around.”

 

Fenris let go of Anders’ hands, letting the mage make the choice to face him. Rattled and a little off balance a very wide eyed Anders did manage to turn and face him, though Fenris very much doubted if it were not for Fenris and the table that Anders would be upright still. 

 

“Your words were compelling, mage. Heartfelt and bare, but now I would hear from you one word; do you truly want this?” Fenris had not fully considered what ‘this’ might be yet, but his head was a mess and his cock was decided. A free man might as well lead with one or the other and his brain was out, so there he stood.

 

Anders looked as petrified as he did mesmerised, as though he waited for Fenris to reveal himself a demon or only tricking him. It was an understandable fear, from Anders’ journal it seemed as though Anders still thought them enemies. Fenris had been surprised to realise that he didn't think that any more. “Y-you… you want this?”

 

Fenris pressed his own hands flat to the bench this time, bracketing Anders’ waist and leaning into his face to watch his eyes dilate. It was a pleasing sight. “I would think that evident by my presence.”

 

One corner of Anders’ mouth made an attempt at a smile but the rest of him seemed too addled to cooperate. “Ah, well… y-yes… I… I suppose that, yeah…”

 

“My question, mage; is this something you truly want?” 

 

Anders swallowed hard, “I would think that evident by my journal.” The cheek would have been more effective if Anders didn't look as though he might orgasm if Fenris so much as touched him, but Fenris appreciated the effort. 

 

His answering smile was not so endearing as Anders’ had been. Fenris’ smile was all teeth and victory, along with narrowed eyes that were the last Anders saw before his was being kissed. Kissed like the mage might change his mind, or maybe Fenris might. It certainly seemed mad enough when Fenris paused to think, so he didn't. 

 

The mage, with his irritating babbling and infuriating selflessness, with his ill-fitting clothes and lewd humour, all of it now in Fenris’ arms. Willing, welcoming; desperate, even. His mouth parted and demanded no less from Anders, the mage submitting to Fenris’ assault as the table rattled into the wall unheeded by both of them. With every gasp Anders let slip another noise that only served to wind Fenris further, teeth nipping at Anders’ mouth that made him whine and drove Fenris wild. 

 

“This isn't happening.” Anders pulled away suddenly, the hands gripping Fenris’ shoulders now holding him back.

 

They both breathed as though they'd been running, as though they still hadn't stopped. “It is. Do you wish it to stop?”

 

“Fuck no.” Anders seized him tightly and pulled him in again. It seemed the mage did not want clarity any more than Fenris did, so Fenris obliged him. He spared a moment to discard his gauntlets and then his hands were upon Anders, greedy and demanding in all the ways Anders seemed to expect from him. Fenris wondered if he were so easily read by the others or if it was just Anders, but then Anders wasn't quite right on everything. He had no plans to hurt Anders, not in this.

 

It was painfully easy for Fenris to lift Anders onto the bench. The mage yelped and clung to him as Fenris did so but Fenris’ only observation was of how little the mage weighed. Even if he hadn't been stronger than most, Fenris thinks he could have lifted him with ease still. 

 

“That… you…” Anders gaped at him.

 

Fenris hummed in agreement. “I did notice a distinct lack of imagination in your writings for what my abilities could entail.” Anders made a sound like a wounded animal as Fenris tugged at the mage’s shirt. “May I?”

 

The issue that Fenris was so determined to impress upon Anders was that Fenris was not inconsiderate or selfish to a bedmate’s needs. Anders seemed to think hatred of magic lead to domination of magic in every sense and while Fenris might not be able to argue the pattern, it did not in fact have any bearing on how Fenris might treat him as a man or more specifically a partner. Fenris could read the surprise on Anders face but to his credit he didn't voice it, only nodded and lifted his arms as Fenris took the shirt from him. 

 

“Um… you're still… spiky,” Anders pointed out, as though afraid any breath or action would shake Fenris from the moment. 

 

Fair was fair, after all. So Fenris unsheathed his sword from his back and rested it against the wall, calmly and unhurried as he moved to the clasps on his armour when Anders’ hands rested over his.

 

“May I?” Anders’ habit of repeating him might wear thin but that time was not then as Fenris nodded and let the mage examine the clasps with no rush. 

 

The breastplate was laid on the bench and then came the spikes. The armoured leather, if Fenris were of a mind to correct Anders, but he wasn't so he let the mage complain under his breath about unnecessary armour as he wrestled free each strap. Fenris did not help. His attention was diverted to the mage's skin. He had had no cause to see it so bared before, and while he had known the mage to be bulkier than the softness of magisters, he had not imagined the scars. Not so many, not so… monstrous. Knotted swathes of patchy skin, some silvery and fine, others angry and dark. 

 

A grunt of triumph was Fenris’ only warning before Anders was wrestling the leather armour over his head. Fenris choked as it tugged around his throat, unable to tell the mage there was a clasp at the back so the armour could slide down his arms. 

 

“Sorry!” Anders was laughing, however, and much as Fenris would have thought a surprise choking would ruin the moment, it did not. Not with Anders’ laughter and hands on his arms. His fingertips, more accurately. Only on the small spaces of unmarked skin, where Anders knew his touch would not hurt. Fenris had never said that to him, not even around him, but either someone had told him or it was yet more evidence of Anders’ observation skills.

 

Fenris wanted to push that away, to stack all the tiny details that made Anders human and understood and burn them, but he couldn't. He couldn't look away from the glaring truth that he was not wrong to be wary and yet Anders was still… Anders. Fenris pushed it aside and reached for the ties of his shirt himself, shrugging the fabric off with an easy roll of his shoulders that had the mage clearly salivating.

 

“Show off.” 

 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “A show you enjoyed.”

 

“Definitely.” Anders’ hands greedily pulled him into an even greedier mouth, the mage needy and wanton in his arms as Fenris pressed between his legs again. The bench rattled and creaked beneath them, Anders’ chuckling at the noise until Fenris teeth nipped at his mouth again. Fenris was considerate, yes, but there was truth to the appeal of the biting and the pinning down. Anders’ journal and certainly given him reason to explore the idea.

 

Anders’ hands tangled in Fenris’ hair but Fenris’ hands had a more precise mission in mind. They tucked into the hem of Anders’ trousers, inching them down and cupping the mage’s rear without being shy. Anders’ groaned into his mouth, but it was the gasp that followed that pleased Fenris more.

 

“Fuck, Fenris…!” Anders whined as Fenris effortlessly lifted him up, just an inch or so, to wrestle the trousers down his legs. Anders clung to Fenris’ shoulders but there was no fear, only quickened breath and heightened need as Anders twined his now bared legs around Fenris’ waist. “Come on,” The mage urged. His desperation was pleasing, and not a little flattering. But Fenris had come to Anders to prove a point and he would prove it.

 

“I mean to enjoy you, mage.” Fenris could not look away from how the mage rocked his achingly hard cock against Fenris’ lower belly and watch how Anders worked to undo his belt with shaky fingers.

 

Anders’ mouth parted, “Enjoy me another time, fuck me hard now!”

 

‘Another time’? Fenris had not thought past ‘this time’. In truth, he was not even thinking that. He was very much not thinking, at all. About any of it. Nothing further than how the mage looked so flushed and laid out for him. 

 

“If your need is so great, I believe you purchased something to help alleviate that.” Fenris brushed the back of his knuckles up the shaft of Anders’ cock, eyes on the mage's face as bliss warred with realisation. Shocked realisation. 

 

The head of Anders’ cock beaded with precum, gathered in a heavy swell that Fenris swiped his thumb through. He spread it in a slow circle to tease the flushed head as Anders’ stammered through speech. “M-my… you want me to… oh.” The journal had spoken of quite the wealth of experience in Anders’ past but it seemed an entirely different matter when Anders had an emotional attachment. He still nodded compliantly and made to stand up, but Fenris caught his jaw and did not step back yet. He kissed Anders, tongue first as Anders’ parted mouth beckoned him in.

 

“I would see you fuck yourself as you wrote about in your journal. Then I would take you, if you agree.” Fenris paused thoughtfully as Anders panted against his mouth and nodded. “I have not yet decided whether you will cum on your toy or on my cock.”

 

“Yours. Please.” 

 

Fenris slid his hand up the mage's scratchy stubble to card through the tempting hair. “As you wish.” He stepped back and Anders scrambled from the table as though he could not get to his bedroom fast enough. It was a pleasing and amusing sight to watch his pale rear bounce as it retreated, Fenris following as he discreetly adjusted his leggings. 

 

He had a box. Of course Anders had a box. A nondescript, plain box with only illicit contents. Anders already had the lid off and was tossing onto his rickety bed a well worn salve pot and in his other hand he held the toy. 

 

Fenris had read about it in the journal but looking at it now he understood the reasoning for the mage’s underlining of the word ‘thick’.

 

“I should be flattered you think my cock akin in girth to that of a qunari, or perhaps a druffalo is more accurate?” Fenris was smirking as Anders’ worried gaze met his and then relaxed at seeing the elf not angered or insulted.

 

“I might have a slight size kink.”

 

“Slight, hm?” Fenris lazily folded his arms and nodded at the bed, enjoying the way Anders settled on it immediately.For a mage with such glaring issues with authority, he obeyed in the bedroom beautifully. “I would think Hawke might be suited for that, not I.”

 

“I don’t mean height.”

 

“And you imagine my cock to be huge, do you?” Anders opened his mouth but Fenris held up a hand. “Do not answer. Show me what you do, alone in your bed with your toy. Let me speak.” The mage nodded slowly, the clicking of his throat now dry with want audible across the room. Fenris stood at the foot of the bed and watched as Anders opened the pot, watched him slick his fingers generously. He would need it, the toy was indeed generous. “Do not rush this, mage. Take your time.” Anders’ whimper did not move Fenris. “One finger, slow. I wish to watch you unravel.”

 

“You are going to be the death of me,” Anders groaned, but still so obedient. 

 

Fenris felt himself echo the statement as Anders’ legs spread and he momentarily lost his train of thought. It narrowed to only the mage’s cock and arse, bracketed by soft, narrow thighs. There were freckles to guide Fenris’ way should he lose it, and it was a temptation almost too unbearable not to buckle onto the bed and taste each brown mark until it led him to his goal. But that was not the way he had decided the evening would go.

 

A long, beckoning finger captured Fenris’ attention and Fenris knew he should be talking but he could not as the pad of Anders’ finger pressed into him with almost no hesitation. A barely there tease and then Anders was knuckle deep on a long moan. Just how many nights did the mage take this toy to his bed and dream of him? If his journal was to be believed, almost every night. “I cannot look away,” Fenris confessed, voice roughened by desire that had Anders biting his lip. His voice still affected the mage, then. “The image you make like this… it is beautifully indecent.”

 

“Fuck, Fenris, your voice is just cruel.” As if Fenris needed the confirmation when he could quite openly see the mage’s cock jerk with interest when he spoke.

 

“Would you have me stop?”

 

“No, Maker, no.”

 

Fenris inclined his head with a smirk. Anders needed no guiding as he thrust his finger in and out, a repetitive action familiar to him that Fenris wished he were doing. However, the sight of the mage doing it for him was one he would not trade, not yet. Perhaps, if there were other times, Fenris might do this himself to the mage. 

 

“Please, a second finger?”

 

“Slowly,” Fenris agreed with a hum of appreciation for how readily Anders started easing a second finger into himself. “Lift your knees.” Anders had reclined himself against what Fenris guessed amounted to a headboard and now drew his knees closer to his chest. His legs were bent sharper as he fingered himself without looking away from Fenris. 

 

Fenris, however, could not look away from Anders’ fingers slipping into himself. “Spread your fingers as you draw them out.” Anders obeyed and Fenris saw his thigh tremble as gasped. “Again.” Fenris demanded and Anders obeyed.

“Fenris…” Anders sighed with such longing. 

 

The nails of Fenris’ fingers dug into his arms a moment, his lazy posture of crossed arms then rigid as he swallowed hard. “Keep going. Slow down.” Anders whined but Fenris remained steadfast, impassive on the surface despite the obvious outline of his desperate cock. Anders eyes became hooded and the mage’s other hand twisted in the thin blanket on the bed, clenching fitfully with each pull out before Fenris breathed, “A third.”

 

The third slipped in slowly without request, Anders’ teeth worrying his lower lip at the stretch and that time Fenris could tear his eyes away to meet Anders’ gaze.

 

“I enjoy the sight of you like this. I would have it often.” Fenris wasn’t sure how that escaped him, the words unformed from thought and mind. The left him from somewhere else, somewhere deeper and more possessive. More soft and adoring. “Spread them.” He ordered before Anders could comment between his heavy breathing.

 

“Fenris,” Anders moaned this time. “I don’t want the toy, please.”

 

“I know. But I would see you use it, I would see it fill you and then I will give you what you ask for. Agreed?”

 

Anders tossed his head to the side and panted for a moment, his fingers slowing before he nodded. “Agreed. But fuck, you have to stop using that filthy voice to say those things. I’m going to cum far too soon.”

 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Fenris considered the frantic, shaky thrusts of the mage’s fingers before nodding at the toy. 

 

“You promised it would be on your cock.” Anders’ fingers eased from his body and grasped for the dildo, the lacquered wood truly remarkable enough to be like the art Anders had called it. He slicked it and Fenris was robbed of thought as Anders brought it to between his legs. 

 

Fenris could only watch as the mage’s hole, slick but still looking so tightly furled, had the toy pressed firmly against it. There was no wine as heady as the sight of Anders like this, red-bitten mouth parted on a whine as the head of the toy finally breached him and his legs shook. It took a hard swallow and his nails once again digging into his arms for Fenris to find his voice. 

 

“You shall. But it does not have to be the first time.” Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “I have given much thought to your Warden stamina.”

 

Anders could not reply, not with the unrelenting press of the dildo filling him up. His head was once again arched back and all Fenris could see was the long climb of his throat, peppered with yet more freckles that splayed over the unmarked areas of his chest. His entire body trembled with it, the sensation of the toy filling him, and Fenris was like a taut bowstring at the sight of it.

 

“Could you cum like this? With me watching?”

 

Anders choked on a trembling sound, “F-fuck… I-I... yeah…”

 

Fenris crept closer onto the bed, sitting at the far end the mage did not occupy but with a much better view of Anders’ efforts. The hand on the base of the toy was white knuckled as Anders started thrusting in easy little rolls of his wrist, mouth agape and breath hitching on each slide. The mage’s eyes fixed on Fenris’ crotch, on the darkening wet patch where the head of his cock was held. The black fabric mostly obscured it but that stain was obvious and Anders moaned. 

 

He stretched out one leg and rubbed the balls of his foot over the mark before Fenris could catch him by his ankle. 

 

“Naughty.” Fenris clicked his tongue and Anders glared, the effect lessened by the lust overtaking him at the still moving toy. 

 

“At least take your trousers off.”

 

Fenris’ grip tightened on Anders’ ankle. “No,” He replied easily, thumb tracing the bump of Ander’s ankle bone before guiding the leg to fold again. This time Fenris held it braced against his shoulder, fingers tight around Anders’ ankle as he stared down at the mage. “Harder, mage. Harder and slower.”

 

As the set precedent, Anders obeyed. His head lolled and his body shuddered, the stretch of his hole around the dildo mesmerising as Fenris took in every detail. From the sweat beaded skin, to the hair hanging in disarray from it’s tie, every tremor that showed Anders’ body so lost to pleasure- all of it was Fenris’ to observe.

 

His grip on Anders’ ankle loosened but instead both hands claimed a leg, mapping out their slow way up the miles of leg the mage had. Fingers parted the curled little hairs, traced patterns in the freckles, caressed his knees, squeezes his thighs… Fenris even let slide how the mage’s hand quickened and the dildo fucked into him faster. It was difficult to argue with the pool of precum on the mage’s belly or the jerk of his untouched cock.

 

His hands looked so rough and stark against Anders’ hips, Fenris’ thumbs teasing the divot of each pointed hipbone as Anders groans became guttural.

 

“You are close.” Fenris would receive no answer but the pleading look Anders could muster. “Cum for me.”

 

Anders’ eyes screwed shut as his hand quickened, unprepared for Fenris’ hand closing around his dripping cock as his eyes flew open again on a cry. “Fenris!”

 

Fenris was not coy with how he stroked Anders’ cock, long, hard pumps of his hand that finished with his fingers playing over the head of Anders’ aching flesh before Fenris moved again. Anders did not last, he spilled with a bitten off sound that tapered into a keening shout, cum striping over Fenris’ hand and his own belly as Anders fell under the crashing wave of his own release.

 

Anders’ free hand loosed from the bed to grip his own hair, Fenris gently easing Anders’ leg down without letting up the motion of his hand as he eked every dribble of cum from Ander’s cock until the mage pushed at him.

 

“You have not softened.”

 

Anders chuckled breathlessly. “Warden stamina.” His voice was lower, raspier. Fenris liked it. Curiosity won out and Fenris knocked aside Anders’ hand to grip the toy, to thrust it gently into Anders and watch him respond like he was struck. “Ahh! Wait a-a moment!” The mage pleaded but Fenris was already easing the toy from him, hushing the mage’s complaint at being jostled. 

 

Fenris soothed the mage with a kiss, leading where the mage was weak and lax but happy to kiss back. It was a far gentler kiss than some of the others they had shared, but the care of it was the same. Anders seemed surprised when he opened his eyes and Fenris could give him no answer, he had not come with answers- only the certainty that he was not the animal Anders painted him as. Fenris broke the kiss with another to Anders’ jaw, yet another further down the mage’s neck, a trail of them down his chest further still. He did not skirt the scars, kissing them as he came upon them until he tasted Anders’ spill over his belly and his tongue joined. Open mouthed kisses that laved Anders’ skin and claimed each drop of cum as Anders’ squirmed under him, his hands gripping Fenris’ hair, his shoulders, his back. Pulling and pleading Anders guided Fenris up to his mouth to kiss him again, hands busy sliding down again as he scrabbled at the band of Fenris’ leggings.

 

“You asked to wait a moment,” Fenris reminded him.

 

Anders growled. “I am done waiting.” Fenris’ leggings did not make it far as his cock sprang free and Anders froze. “Verdammte Scheiße…”

 

“I’m… sorry?” Fenris had never had cause to hear Anders’ native tongue but it was not expected for him to hear it while the mage stared at his cock.

 

“You’re huge!”

 

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You exaggerate, mage.”

 

Anders glared at him. “You underestimate, you elf. You shame my dildo!” Anders’ thumb and forefinger circle the base of it as Fenris groans at finally being touched. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

 

“Second thoughts?” Fenris prayed to the Maker the answer was no, he didn’t think he could respectfully walk from here without alleviating his frustrated cock at this point.

 

“ _ No _ , get in me.” Anders snatched up the discarded pot of salve, slathering it over his hand before he gripped Fenris’ cock again. “Stop teasing me and just fuck me, Fenris.”

 

“That is one order from a mage I can be persuaded to follow.” Fenris’ hips tipped up into the mage’s hand as the infuriating man jerked him far too expertly. The elf fixed him with a sharp look. “I thought you wanted me to ‘get in you’?”

 

“Let a man worship for a moment.” Anders’ form of worship looked strangely like gawking as the expert hand strayed into simply playing and marvelling at the heaving cock on it’s palm.

 

Fenris grasped the wrist of the hand and stilled Anders. “I cannot wait.”

 

“Then don’t.” Anders composure was lost as Fenris gripped his thighs and dragged him down the bed to him, his arse perfectly positioned for Fenris to rock his cock against, and the mage yelped at the sudden movement. “Fenris!”

 

“Yes, call my name like that. Only with more need.” Fenris teased, watching the mage’s mouth part indignantly before he rested the head of his cock against the mage’s hole and Anders’ mouth clacked shut. “You want this?”

 

“Yes.” Anders did not hesitate before answering, so Fenris repaid him in kind.

 

Anders was burning hot and willingly open beneath him, Fenris almost lost to the sensation of the mage’s body as it gave to his cock like he was made for it. He was tight still, perhaps a testament to the mage maybe not having exaggerated in his praise, and Fenris forced himself to remain slow and steady as Anders’ nails dug into his back. “Alright?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Anders’ voice was void of breath again as he heaved and shuddered until Fenris’ hips rested snug against his rear, Anders’ knees squeezing Fenris’ waist, and the mage’s deviant prayers called to the ceiling as Fenris rolled his hips. “Ahh! Fenris, come on, I can take it.”

 

Fenris scoffed. “That may be so, but I cannot.” Fenris cupped Anders’ face and held his gaze as he tentatively rolled his hips again. “Your body will undo me.”

 

“Let it. Show me.” Anders urged, brat-like in his demands, and Fenris could not resist.

 

Anders’ body gave to his thrusts even if the mage himself was arched like a man struck by lightning at the too sudden rush of sensations on his already wrung nerves. “Still want this?” Fenris grunted, his mind buzzing at the rush of need and desire that swallowed him whole, made him kneel to nought but it and the writhing man under him.

 

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, yes!” If Fenris was brought to kneel, Anders was unmade. His heels kicked and pulled together at Fenris’ back, his nails scoring at Fenris’ back and his mouth shrieking mantras of desperation and pleasure that Fenris would have the mage spill more, and more, and more…

 

It fuelled his thrusts, each greedy push of his cock a selfish desire for his own pleasure and to hear the mage’s again. He found the angle most given to Anders’ cries and doggedly kept to it, determined to have the mage fall under again with nothing but Fenris’ name spilling from his lips. It was as worthy a goal as any Fenris had, and that one he chose with every fibre of his freedom- for good or ill, it was his choice to make to have it. To have this mage.

 

Fenris fell to his elbows and one hand tangled in Anders’ hair, scraping it back messily from Anders’ face as he watched the mage’s expressions and fucked into him with abandon. Fenris had little doubt the mage would feel every inch of it tomorrow, his strength bruising Anders’ hips and his cock spreading Anders’ wider than even his obscenely endowed toy.

 

Fenris’ feet braced into the bed as his knees spread and he obeyed the cries of, “More, harder, harder!” That the mage managed to garble together, sweat beading his face and slipping Anders’ fingers as he grasped at the elf pounding into him with no thought for the unstable bed the rested on or how it protested. He was deaf to anything that was not Anders. 

 

One of the mage’s hands left his back to tangle with the one in his hair, twining their fingers with a frantic grip as Anders rolled his hips into each thrust and had Fenris nearly biting his tongue. Anders was  _ clenching _ around him, damn near milking him hungrily on each thrust as Fenris fell to swearing under his breath. His control was fraying and Anders was not helping as his other hand curled around his cock and Fenris watched Anders pleasure himself while impaled over and over upon his cock. 

 

This mage would end him, Fenris had no doubt. 

 

“I c-can’t-,” Fenris choked on a groan, “I-I…!”

 

“Cum, Fenris.” Anders’ words were whispered like a loving benediction, the release they beckoned so sweet Fenris crumpled under it as his hips weakly jerked and he filled the mage. His cock emptied and Fenris’ head slumped onto Anders’ shoulder as he weakly curled his fist around the mage’s hand on his cock. It was agony to feel the mage clenching around him as he found release a second time, but a sweet agony Fenris would not trade before he found the strength to slide from Anders body and collapse beside him.

 

His breathing has barely levelled before Fenris feels Anders’ hands combing through his hair. Wiped free of seed, they urge him to rest as Anders’ honeyed eyes make him feel warmed and welcome. 

 

Let tomorrow bring the worry and the thoughts that Fenris cannot abide tonight.

 

\---

 

“Isabela?”

 

Isabela turned against the bar, elbows supporting her against it as she gave him an inviting wink. “Yes, sweet thing?”

 

Fenris fidgeted a moment before offering her a scrap of paper. “I… I found a word I do not understand.” The shamed frown on his brow softened Isabela’s smirk into an earnest smile. “Would you…?”

 

“Of course.” She took it from him and nearly choked as she struggled to breathe and laugh at the same time. “Andraste’s arse, where did you read this?!”

 

Fenris’ did not seem put off by Isabela’s alarm, instead only shuffling closer. “You know it then?”

 

“‘Know it’ he says,” Isabela tsked at him before smiling broadly. “You filthy, deviant elf. It’s a dirty thing.”

 

“I assumed that much.”

 

“Well, mister know it all, you know when you finish inside a partner?” Her blunt wording had Fenris’ eyebrows climbing to his hairline as she leaned in. “This is the name for when you are done and you set about eating your spend out of them. This paper says ‘felching’; now you have to tell me where you read this!”

 

Fenris knew he was blushing, Isabela’s glowing grin confirmed it as he snatched back the paper. “No!” 

 

“Fenris!” Isabela protested at his retreating back. 

 

It seemed his mage was filthier than Fenris gave him credit for and there would indeed need to be ‘another time’ if Fenris’ cock was to be understood. Not that there had stopped being ‘another times’ since that night. 

 

Anders was compelling and Fenris could not deny his… compulsion.

 

Fenris had not returned the journal, either. It was his and Anders never asked for it, but it served to stimulate Fenris’ imagination for their encounters and Anders could only ever count the journal’s absence as in his favour.

 

Now; Fenris had yet one more fantasy to fulfill for his mage. 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: akaiba.tumblr.com


End file.
